The best writing advice often arrives wrapped in absurdity. Lucy Ives’ new collection, *Three Six Five*—a series of deliberately bizarre writing exercises—is the latest in a long line of counterintuitive manuals that have shaped generations of writers. But why does the weirdest advice sometimes produce the most brilliant work? The answer lies in how the brain processes creativity: not through rigid rules, but through the kind of cognitive friction that forces us to think differently.
This isn’t just about quirky prompts like “Write a letter from a toaster” or “Describe your childhood as if it were a heist movie.” It’s about the science of constraint. Studies in cognitive psychology show that when we’re forced to think outside conventional frameworks, our brains generate more original ideas. The weirdness isn’t the goal—it’s the catalyst. And yet, most writing advice still clings to the same tired tropes: “Write every day,” “Show, don’t tell,” “Kill your darlings.” These are fine, but they’re not *transformative*. The weird stuff? That’s where the magic happens.
Why the Brain Resists the Obvious
Neuroscientists have long observed that creativity thrives in the “default mode network,” a brain state active when we’re daydreaming or lost in thought. But this network is easily derailed by over-familiarity. When we follow the same writing drills—outlining, freewriting, the five-paragraph essay—we’re essentially training our brains to operate on autopilot. The result? Predictable prose.
Enter the weird. Constraints—especially the absurd kind—force the brain to make unexpected connections. Take the “exquisite corpse” exercise, where writers collaborate by building a story one sentence at a time without knowing what comes next. It’s a game that’s been around since the surrealists, but its power lies in its unpredictability. As Maria Konnikova, author of *The Biggest Bluff* and a psychologist who studies decision-making, puts it:
“The most creative solutions often emerge when we’re not trying to solve a problem directly. The brain’s lateral thinking—jumping from one idea to another without logical progression—is what separates good writing from great writing. And the weirder the constraint, the more lateral the thinking becomes.”
This isn’t just theory. Data from a 2023 study published in *Nature Human Behaviour* found that writers who engaged in “non-normative” exercises—those that broke conventional storytelling structures—produced work rated 22% more original by peer reviewers than those who stuck to traditional methods. The study’s lead author, Dr. Elena Vazquez of the University of Barcelona, noted that the most effective constraints weren’t just random; they were strategically bizarre. “You need enough structure to avoid chaos,” she said, “but enough absurdity to avoid cliché.”
The History of Weird Writing Advice
Lucy Ives isn’t the first to weaponize the strange. The tradition stretches back to the Dadaists, who famously declared that art should be “useless” to provoke thought. Their manifestos were less about technique and more about dismantling expectations. Then came the Oulipo group, a French collective of writers and mathematicians who treated storytelling like a puzzle. Their exercises—writing a novel with only 26 words, or using a pre-set list of nouns—forced creativity into a box, only to watch it explode outward.
Even mainstream figures have dabbled in the weird. Ray Bradbury, in his 1973 essay collection *Zen in the Art of Writing*, advised writers to “write like a child,” embracing the unfiltered imagination of youth. Meanwhile, Margaret Atwood has spoken about using “constraints as a form of liberation,” arguing that rules—especially the arbitrary kind—free the mind from the paralysis of perfectionism.
But here’s the catch: the weirdest advice only works if it’s useful. A random prompt like “Write a sonnet about a sentient vending machine” might spark a laugh, but it won’t necessarily improve your craft. The best exercises—like Ives’ *Three Six Five*—are designed to target specific weaknesses. For example, one exercise asks writers to describe a mundane object (a coffee mug) as if it were a character in a thriller. The goal? To train observation skills and vivid description without falling into cliché.
The Economics of Creative Constraint
There’s a growing market for these unconventional methods. Since 2020, sales of “anti-writing books”—guides that reject traditional advice—have surged by 150%, according to Publishers Weekly. Platforms like MasterClass now feature courses on “writing with constraints,” and even corporate training programs are adopting surreal exercises to boost employee creativity.
Why the shift? Because the traditional writing industry—once dominated by publishers and agents—has become a competitive landscape. With AI tools like ChatGPT capable of generating passable prose in seconds, the real differentiator isn’t skill; it’s uniqueness. And that’s where the weird advice shines. It doesn’t just teach technique; it teaches identity.
Consider the case of George Saunders, whose short story “Tenth of December” won the Pulitzer Prize in 2013. Saunders has spoken about using “exercises that feel like child’s play” to break through creative blocks. His approach? Write a story where every sentence must begin with the word “but.” The result? A narrative voice that feels both playful and profound.
How to Steal the Weird (Without Looking Crazy)
Not every writer needs to adopt Ives’ toaster letters or Bradbury’s childlike musings. But there are ways to harness the power of the strange without abandoning structure. Here’s how:
- Invert a trope. Instead of writing a love letter, write a breakup letter from the perspective of the rejected party’s toaster. The goal isn’t the toaster’s monologue—it’s the fresh angle on emotion.
- Use a foreign structure. Japanese haiku force brevity; French sestinas demand repetition. Both can sharpen focus.
- Steal from other art forms. Describe a scene using only colors, or write a dialogue where every line is a weather report. The constraint forces precision.
- Embrace failure. The best weird advice often comes from mistakes. If a prompt doesn’t work, pivot. The process of adapting is where growth happens.
There’s a reason the most memorable writing advice—from Natalie Goldberg’s “write like the wind” to Stephen King’s “kill your darlings”—feels both radical and inevitable. It’s because they tap into a deeper truth: creativity isn’t about following rules. It’s about breaking them, just enough to see what’s on the other side.
The Takeaway: Why You Should Try the Weird
Here’s the hard truth: If you’re not occasionally writing something that makes you cringe, you’re not pushing hard enough. The weird advice isn’t about producing poor work—it’s about discovering what good work looks like. As Zadie Smith once said, “The only way to have a good idea is to have a lot of ideas.” And the only way to have a lot of ideas is to stop waiting for inspiration and start provoking it.
So go ahead. Write a manifesto from a sentient AI. Craft a sonnet about your socks. The point isn’t to publish it—it’s to see what happens when you break the mold. Because the best writing advice, like the best jokes, is the one that makes you question everything you thought you knew.
Now, what’s the weirdest writing exercise you’ve ever tried? And did it work?
